


Freedom

by execution_empress



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9076858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/execution_empress/pseuds/execution_empress
Summary: Hawkeye was sent to kill Black Widow, but he keeps her alive. Was there a reason for doing such a silly thing?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jediknight18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jediknight18/gifts).



> This is a gift for [jediknight18](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jediknight18/pseuds/Jediknight18). This Secret Santa apologizes for being late, but I hope she enjoys her gift. ♥ And I hope all of you enjoy it as well. ♥

He’s watched her for so long he’s certain something is amiss. 

She sits in a cell, hands in her lap and eyes closed. She seems to be at peace with everything around her, which is strange given all that had happened.

A fugitive, a rogue assassin, an expert at hacking, a master martial artist, a threat to any and everyone, and his mission - that is the Black Widow. A mission he was handed months ago, Clint was watching her and waiting for perfect chance to kill her. He had to plan ahead. With her, it was kill or be killed. There were a few problems in his plan though.

He didn’t kill her, hence why she sits in front of him. 

She didn’t kill him, hence why he stands in front of her cell.

“I don’t get it,” he tells her. She tilts her head, indicating she’s listening. He supposes that’s the most he’ll get from her. “You’re Black Widow. The Black Widow! You’re the best assassin out there.”

The complement has her smirking just a bit. “Thank you.”

“I’m still alive though.”

“That you are, yes.”

“Why?”

“Hm?” She plays stupid, but he knows better. They both do. It’s a game of cat and mouse, though it’s unsure as to who plays which part. 

His brows furrows as he asks again, “Why? I’ve watched you for a while. I’ve seen you take down huge, buff guys and all sorts of other agents and stuff. You’re ruthless and efficient. You’re like a little spider, luring ‘em to your web, and you take them out so easily.”

A playful smirk dances on her lips as she hums from the observation and nickname. “Thank you.”

“But you’re different. I’ve seen you give the homeless some food and money.” She stops as she eyes him, though she still looks like an omnipotent cat. 

“Gotta keep up appearances, don’t I? And if I don’t need that food or money, at least someone else could-”

“I’m not done. You’ve watched street performers for a moment, then give them a good tip.”

“I don’t think you understand ‘keeping up appearances.’”

“There’s more.” Her lips thin out as she raises an eyebrow. “There were some kittens you fed and took to a shelter.” She was nothing to say to that. “A dog got hit and you took him to the vet.” She has nothing to defend herself with.

“...And?”

“Not something one would expect from the best and most feared assassin of the KGB. Most would just worry about themselves.”

There’s a slight pause as she replies, “Guess I’m not like most, am I?”

He pauses as well, only to glance away briefly. There’s a hint of red in his cheeks and she can see it. “Nope. Most wouldn’t- Well- Not-”

 

Her lips curl up, knowing she has the upper hand on him again. “Oh, you liked watching me undress, I take it?”

“I did.” It’s his turn to smirk as he locks eyes with her. “It was very familiar. Didn’t think you’d keep that ratty old mask of mine, little spider.”

Zipping down the front of her suit, she pulls out a weathered leather mask that’s a dark shade of violet. “So you do remember me,” she murmurs.

And how could he not?

Years and years ago. Another hot summer day at the circus. He wears the mask as the hero that never misses, Hawkeye. He performs a few times a day, ending most shows a bit early so he has a chance to sign his posters for his fans. On that day, a red haired young woman asks a few questions about a new act, some girl from Russia that can work the silks, then leaves. She returns for his other shows, he always notices her hair, but she never gets an autograph. She asks question after question about the new girl, then leaves.

After a few days, she doesn’t ask about the girl anymore. Instead she asks about him. Why did he choose archery? How much practice went into his craft? He can see there’s something troubling her, so he invites her back to his trailer. They continue to talk and he even takes off his mask. When she leaves, he gives his name but she won’t give him hers.

That same night, when the town and the circus are at rest, she returns to his trailer. He wakes up and answers and it’s her, eyes holding back a storm as she walks inside. She’s found he’s an honest soul. There’s no missions for her around him and there’s no one watching her. She can speak, so she does as he makes her a cup of tea. Does he think Silks (the new Russian girl) is free and happy? Can anyone truly be free? Isn’t it more trouble than what it’s worth? 

He doesn’t have answers for her. All he can offer is a cup of tea and a listening ear. While she talks and questions, he does his best to reply. He thinks his best isn’t that good, but it’s the world to her. A new perspective is what she needs. A tiny seed of hope to be planted in the desolate wasteland that was once her heart. Freedom isn’t just space. It’s being given choices. It’s deciding something for oneself. Freedom can even be returning to where you can be yourself.

It’s funny, but an archer with a goofy smile and twinkling eyes can speak such wisdom. After a few sips from a lukewarm cup, she thanks him with a kiss. She never gives him a name. She can’t. She won’t place him in danger. She was supposed to find a lost KGB agent, someone from the Red Room like she was, but she never reports her as found. She’s forever missing, possibly dead, and will stay that way. So to Clint she’s the Little Spider, always quick and forever watching.

She visits him again and again for the next few weeks. She lies on her mission reports just to see him. Each day she says she’s a step closer to finding Silks and at night she goes to his trailer, losing herself in his voice, his lips, his arms. She can forget her reality as she dreams in his bed.

Though all good things must come to an end.

With no news of the missing agent, Natasha is forced to return. The last night she spends with Clint, he asks for her name only to be rejected tearfully. She can’t. He wipes away her tears with his calloused thumb and kisses her one last time. He knows it’ll be their last. A man named Coulson had sought him out and asked him to join his organization. He wants his Little Spider to come along, but he knows she won’t. He gives her his worn, leather mask and kisses her, asking a wordless question and she answers with a passion.

That was the last he thought he’d see of the red haired Little Spider. He never dreams of possibly seeing her again, let alone that she’d be his target.

More importantly, he never thinks she’d remember. Though the same can be said for her.

“So how- why? Is that why you never took me down or hurt me?” he asks. Clint slips his arm through the bar and cups her cheek. Natasha stills herself for a moment, frozen from the warmth, but then moves to nuzzle his hand. She misses the way he made her heart skip a beat. “How did you know it was me?”

“An archer that never misses,” she replies, glancing up at him. “Honestly though, there’s not many that would use a bow and arrow when rifles are usually the preferred weapon of choice. I’m not surprised your government recognized your talent. I just- I never thought-”

“Yeah, me neither.” They never thought they’d meet again, much less have their fates intertwine as such. For him to be assigned her as his mission means so much. If hope could plant itself in her heart, it blooms in his despite all odds.

“So, what now?”

“Come back with me. Work with me. You can work for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Maybe we could work together! We’d be-” Pressing a finger to his lips, Natasha shakes her head and chuckles. He pulls head his back and continues. “You have a good heart. You’d be a great agent and you’d be protected. You just need a chance.” That’s why she couldn’t kill him. Only he could see something in her that no one else saw. Only he could trust her, could see her potential, could think the best of and for her. “You need some freedom and you’d finally have it.”

“You sure you want to offer it to a woman whose name you don’t even know?” She’s teasing, but it works. Taking the mask from her, Clint slips it on and looks down at her. He grins as he unlocks and opens the cell door. 

“Then let’s start over,” he says, taking off the mask. She laughs, something soft and true, as she feels like herself again. She hasn’t felt that way in a long time. She also forgot just how dramatic the archer could be. “I might be the masked hero, Hawkeye, but you can call me Clint. Why don’t you tell me your name, little spider?”

“I’m Natasha, though you really think you should call a Black Widow just a little spider?” He holds out his hand and she shakes it, though he pulls her close and wraps an arm around her.

“Nah. That’s why I’m gonna call her Nat or Tasha.” Dipping his head down, his lips brush against hers. A shiver runs through her as she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Oh, that sounds so much better,” she whispers. Unable to take the anticipation, she claims his lips in a hungry kiss. Their moans mingle together as they stay together, their hearts syncing together. Never had either of them felt so free before and never would they forget such a thing.


End file.
